


Failed Salvage

by TempoPrestissimo



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: It's more dubcon than noncon, M/M, emotional manipulataion, it's sure as hell not healthy, nightmare courtiers are hecked up, pact commander is a sylvari here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 16:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempoPrestissimo/pseuds/TempoPrestissimo
Summary: The Pact Commander visits home, but letting his guard down was a bad idea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Same deal as the other one: this story is based on characters created by my friends and I, but we all know what you're here for. Anything that's glossed over shouldn't dampen your fun, so go right ahead.
> 
> First chapter is just feelings. Second chapter has the porn.

Ophyrona was glad for whatever chances he had to be at home. They seemed few and far between now. Gone were the days when subduing the Nightmare Court were the highest of his aspirations. Fate had intervened, as it tended to do. Now he was called to all sorts of places, and while he accepted and took joy in that path, there was something about coming home again that was special. 

Dian too was happy to be back in the forests of his youth. They were better than they had been; more experienced, faster and sharper than their younger selves. Dian was louder, certainly. And Ophy sported a sturdy new brace around his bad knee, courtesy of the engineer, Evelyn. 

He felt he had little to fear in this place. The animals didn't bother him a whit, and he had been fighting Nightmare Court since he could walk (shaky and pain-filled as those steps had been). 

So perhaps he was a little more relaxed than was advisable. Certainly he would have asked Telina to show more caution. But it did explain how the little novice got the best of him.

“Drop your weapon and show me your hands!” Ophy didn't turn to see who spoke to him. It was a young voice. Male. Sure enough of himself that his voice didn't shake and yet… Ophy did not think he sounded  _ experienced _ . 

“I'm putting my weapon down. See? Watch me do it.” His own voice was calm, and he unhitched his bow and quiver so he could slowly lay them onto the grass. “It'd be no use to shoot you this close anyway. Can I turn around?”

He wasn't afraid. If he couldn't get out of this on his own (and he would be disappointed if he couldn't) then he was sure Dian would rescue him. Embarrassing, and surely he would have to tell Jora of the moa’s heroics, but it was still a fair comeuppance for his mistakes. 

“Fine. But don't try anything!” The young man demanded.

Ophy turned slowly. The boy he saw was clearly Nightmare Court… but barely. He was fresh-faced and frowning, trying hard to be brave. Ophyrona would be an impressive victim to bring back to his superiors, that much was easy to see. 

“A little young for the courts, aren't you?” He asked calmly.

The young man seemed offended. “I'm old enough to know what I want.” His tone was almost petulant, but Ophy didn't think it was entitledness that crafted it. He thought the tone was one of carefully hidden fear. Still, it wouldn't matter much. He could handle things from here. 

He moved quickly. He ducked out of the way of the boy's knife, grabbing his wrist and twisting it roughly. With a cry of pain the man dropped the knife and Ophyrona jerked his arm around to pin it behind his back. He hooked his other arm around the young man's neck and held him there.

“You're quiet, but you're not fast enough.” Ophy didn't sound angry. He spoke softly and calmly, as though to a student. “And you have to learn to pick your battles. I would have been a better target to pass on. There are others that are more your skill level.”

“Stop it! Let me go!” He struggled and Ophy had to tighten his grip to keep his hold. Still, he felt something soak into his arm where he had it against the boy's back. Now wasn't the time to look down, but the young man definitely made a pained noise as he tried to escape.

“What's your name, little one?” Ophy asked him.

Another groan as he attempted to free himself. “Reeid! My name is Reeid, and I'm a member of the Nightmare Court! Let me go before they come to help me and make you regret this!”

“Hello, Reeid. My name is Ophyrona.” He said conversationally. “And you know as well as I do that they won't be coming for you. You're new to them, aren't you? They'll let you rot out here, if it's easier for them.” But Ophyrona did let him go. Reeid stumbled away from him, rubbing his wrist where it had been hurt. Ophyrona looked down at what had soaked into his arm and was disappointed (but not surprised) when it was blood. 

“They've hurt you.” He said quietly.

Reeid’s eyes were young and angry. At him, but whether it was for besting him or for letting him go without killing him it was hard to tell.

“It's part of the training. I'm fine! I can take it!” He said. He was trying to prove himself, even to a stranger. 

“The people who value you shouldn't be hurting you.” Ophyrona said quietly. “Your blood is worth a lot more than that.”

“You don't know anything! My place is here!” He insisted.

Dian was nowhere to be found. Ophy was glad. He wasn't worried for his friend but this would take some tact that he did not think that the moa possessed. 

“Is that what your dream told you, Reeid?” A simple question. He didn't make a move towards the boy, nor did he try to stop him from reaching for his knife. But, clearly knowing that he was beaten, he just tucked it back into his belt.

“I don't have a dream.” He said bitterly. “The pale tree doesn't talk to me. This is where I belong.” His voice was steady but he seemed so deeply miserable. Ophy was not worried for himself. He did not feel that this boy was any danger to him. He was a danger to himself, if anything. 

“My friend did not have a dream either.” Ophy said reasonably. “And there are Soundless who leave the pale tree for their own reasons. There are people out there for you, Reeid. People who won't hurt you.”

“Those are the only people out there.” His voice was heated and desperate and his frown darkened. “That's what they taught me. They're just helping me prepare for that.”

Nightmare Court. Half of if it was emotional and ideological torture. The other half was physical. In the end, it turned people inside out. Warped them passed recognition.

But what was Ophyrona to do? Kill the boy, before he became a danger to others? He sighed, and picked up his own weapons and replaced them on his back.

“You know… I do a lot of traveling. To places beyond where the court can reach. And I'll be home for some days yet.” Ophyrona looked at Reeid. “If you want another option… you can find me.  I know you're skilled enough to. And…-” What did you say? What could you say? His own heart was heavy to think of such a young life wasted. “Try not to let them hurt you. I think you've been through enough already.”

Reeid said nothing. He just glared at him. Ophy didn't think twice about turning his back on the man and making a path for home. Dian caught up with him in his own time, but even the moa found it hard to cheer him up. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I pick on Ophyrona a lot. Mmm, too bad. Here's the porn you came for, reader. Enjoy.

The silence was welcoming.

Ophy didn't lose consciousness even when they dragged him back to the thorned prison that they used to contain him. The pain was constant, but the man applying it was a novice at best. Ophyrona never begged, and he never screamed. 

Sometimes the man made more noise than Ophy did, talking or laughing, trying to get him to break. The quiet was nice. He wouldn't have time to heal, at least not enough of it, but there was something to be appreciated for nursing his wounds in silence. The man had noticed the weakness in his knee and now the joint was a broken wreck, mangled and agonising. His clothes clung to him as shredded, bloody rags. He ached and was exhausted down to his very bones. But, he would not break.

He was his mother's son in every sense of the phrase.  Resilient to a fault, and unexpectedly clever.

That was how he had found water to drink. He laid on the mossy ground, his breath coming in slow, deep waves as darkness settled in around him. Night meant cooler temperatures, and the fog that condensed on the wide, flat leaves dripped into his mouth. He hadn't had food in a little while, not since he finished what was left in his pockets when his captor had been too stupid to take it from him. It left him in a better state than he had any right to be. 

When the sun rose, they dragged him from his prison to start it all over again. 

Ophy was quiet. Even when the blood started to run again, he made no sound. The frustration of his captor was apparent, but no sooner had it started to surface than they were interrupted. Curious, searching fingers pressed into the wound on his knee and earned nothing more than a hiss. No sooner had his breath gone ragged than the pain stopped. Someone had entered the clearing.

“My my. What do we have here?” An unfamiliar voice. With eyes that were only slightly unfocused, Ophy blinked up at the intrusion. A man. Beautiful, but with a terrible smile twisted on his lips. His clothes were typical Nightmare Court faire, but he carried himself differently than his compatriots. And there  _ were _ compatriots. He had an entourage with him. From the way that Ophyrona's tormentor jumped a full step back and cowered, it was clear that he was terrified of him. 

“O-oh, Baron!” he stammered. “I caught him on the edge of camp. He was spying on us. Who knows how long he'd been out there feeding them our secrets.” He said. That answered it. The Red Baron. Ophyrona knew the title, but had never met the man.

His companions looked at Ophy curiously but he didn't glance at them. He blinked openly, honestly, at the courtier in front of him. He didn't recognise him, but apparently his existence was cause for some concern. The Baron grabbed him by the chin, leaning in close enough that their noses almost touched. “I can't believe it. I just can't believe it.” What had started as shock quickly dissolved into glee.

“Oh, I know exactly who you are.” The Baron almost purred in his happiness. “And you, my most idiotic subordinate,  _ you _ somehow managed to catch one of the pact commanders and bring him to an outpost that is woefully unequipped to deal with the backlash.” Quick as lightning, he dropped Ophy’s face and lashed out, grabbing the man by his collar. “If they find out he’s here, we’ll be overrun. And you didn’t even think to report it.”

A stammered apology, the man leaning back in his grip as if trying to free himself without making it obvious. The Baron didn’t give him the chance. With his free hand, in a thoughtless and sudden movement, he slashed out the man’s throat and soaked himself in blood. He dropped the body to the ground where it twitched momentarily but soon laid still.

“Get rid of that, and double the patrols. We have to be ready if they decide to attempt a rescue.” The orders were followed instantly. Ophyrona was not surprised. The Red Baron was (as was made very clear)  not someone to take lightly.

“And you… Oh, Ophyrona-” The Baron turned to him again. With one bloody hand he took ahold of his jaw, making the other Sylvari look at him. “You better rest up. I have to be away for a few days. Grand Duchess Faolian has something that she desires my presence for. But when I return…” A wild smile on his lips, his hands smearing the blood over Ophyrona’s cheeks. “I want the challenge of breaking you. What a treat.”

They threw him back in the prison. This time they fed him. Usually there was threats but there was none of that today. No one even pretended to be able to hurt him when the Baron had picked him out. No threats, but there were whispers. About him, and about the baron. And while Ophy laid there he was haunted by the man’s face. He knew it from somewhere. He was sure of it. There was something in his eyes. 

He had started to heal as the days passed. His knee was still a disaster, but seeing as it had barely worked before he didn’t exactly expect it to heal well now. He couldn’t walk, but he could manage a stumble without bleeding out. Hardly well enough for an escape, but he was already planning. He knew when the guards posted outside his cell changed, he knew when most people in the camp were asleep. He wasn’t fast enough yet but as long as Faolain took her time with the Baron, he thought he might have a chance.

Of course, he was neither rescued or escaped before that time. The Baron was not gone for long and the outpost was only more emboldened by his return. Not Ophyrona’s jailers, however. Everyone who came near him was equal parts scared stiff and dedicated to their task. Their loyalty (or fear) was too strong. He was never given an opening.

And then, as promised, he was called on. Not knocked out or dragged from his cell, both of which he expected. But,  _ called _ on. The opened the door and waited for him to struggle to his feet. And then, perhaps amused, the sylvari guarding his cell watched as he clumsily made his way to where he was directed.

He could have resisted, but to what end? Now was not the time and place to make a stand, especially when he could barely do that. Wordlessly, he was gestured along the path as the forest grew darker around him. The Baron’s private bower, it seemed. Ophy almost sighed. What a place to lose the use of his leg again (because he was certain that he would). He neither hesitated nor gave sign of his pain. This was an agony he was used to, at least.

The bower itself was much like others he had seen. The edges were overgrown to keep out any wanderers and it was lit by pretty, bioluminescent flowers. Caithe’s bower had been opened at the top, letting in sun and starlight, but this one was not. It gave everything  an oppressive feeling, and the world was very quiet.  
Here, Ophyrona found he liked the silence less.

“Hello again.” The voice came from right over his shoulder. Ophy didn’t whirl, wasn’t able to. Instead, he froze where he was and tried to hear the speaker’s movements. He knew the voice immediately.

“Hello.” He answered back simply. 

Hands on him, sliding over the rags of his clothes. He fought both the urge to flinch and to pull away. Both would have resulted in him falling over. And for now, the hands were not hurting him.  They stung where they passed over places not yet healed, but their intent wasn’t to damage. Not yet.

“Precious little soldier. So much power… and so much pain.” A voice just as pretty as the face it came from. The Baron finally condescended to end his dramatics and wandered casually into Ophyrona’s line of sight. He didn’t pull his hands away, though. His curious touch still trailed over the man he had set his sights on. 

“The man who had his hands on you was so careless.” He mused. “Well, he won’t get another chance.” A smile, as wicked and sharp as a blade. “I’m an artisan at my craft, Ophyrona. Nothing like that simpleton. You will see.” He pressed a hand to Ophyrona’s cheek, leaning himself close. Close enough that Ophy could almost feel his smile even if he couldn’t see it. “I’ve learned so much.”

Ophy took a deep breath and the memory surfaced as simply as if it had always been there. His eyes closed, he breathed out the name in a sigh.

“Reeid.”

“Oh, you  _ do  _ remember me.” Breathless glee. The shove at his shoulders was gentle but insistent. He followed it. No choice but to wait for an opening, if someone like Reeid, the Red Baron, were to ever give him one. Otherwise it was back to the old routine, gritted teeth and silence through the blood. Reeid pressed him back and back, against the wide and waiting trunk of a tree. He leaned against it, grateful to take the weight off his leg even if momentarily. 

“It’s not the first time I’ve been pressed against you. Do you remember?” Reeid’s voice in his ear. Low and almost sane. Happiness, real, honest happiness bubbled through his words. “The way I felt against you? The way I fought? You’re such a dear heart, I bet it never even crossed your mind…”

Ophyrona listened and waited. He felt Reeid’s laugh, a sweet chuckle, no bitterness to be found. Whatever he had, it ran deep. Too deep. 

“It crossed mine. I thought you’d take me right there, like you were some sort of infuriated courtier… Of course, you never dreamed of it…. But oh, I did.” His hands tightened in the scraps of Ophyrona’s shirt, short nails scratching against the skin where they found it uncovered. There was a hitch in Reeid’s breath and he seemed so open, so real. Ophy couldn’t bring himself to think of him as the Baron. Not here, face to face. There was too much Reeid. To see him as anything else seemed impossible. Their meeting had been brief, but it would have been a lie to say that it hadn’t affected him profoundly. Apparently, he was not the only one. 

“I would have cried for you, screamed for you, begged for you. You could have opened up my deepest and most vulnerable places and made me call you anything you wanted.” Desperation in his voice, but not the kind that Ophy remembered. He pressed himself closer and Ophyrona could feel the heat from him. Maybe it was that which earned the shiver he felt, or maybe it was his words. Ophy did not speak up to tell him. 

“You could have made me your slave before I ever truly knew the nightmare. You could have broken me right there. I know you have it in you.”  He whispered the words against Ophyrona’s neck and that was it, that was when Ophy finally tried to push him away. A few knowing touches from Reeid put a stop to it, his knees going weak with the pain and his breath coming out in a harsh gasp. 

“Not so fast, little sapling. I have more to say.” Another laugh, just as bright and honest. “You see, mercy is a power I didn’t comprehend before that day. They had said to me that mercy was a sign of weakness, an inability to finish the job. But that isn’t true, not for you.” The wave of pain was slow to subside. He knew just where to touch, just what latent injuries to aggravate and exactly how much. Just enough to keep Ophyrona in line and compliant. With the state he was in, that may have been all the tools Reeid needed. 

“Mercy is power, sometimes. You feared me so little and wanted me so much less, not even as a toy! It burned me! I spent weeks thinking of it.” And there it was. Reeid hissed his words and finally Ophyrona could heard the darkness in his voice. He closed his eyes again, trying to lean back, anything to put some distance between him and the other man. Reeid only followed the action, every line of him pressed against his newest acquisition. 

“I thought of nothing else. The way you would have felt, the way you would have tasted. All the ways you could have made me ache. I felt the nightmare, I felt it fill me in all the cracks the dream had left…And still, I thought of you.”

It took a lot of strength for Ophyrona to look at him. Reeid looked so much healthier than he had before; all signs of his previous injuries had disappeared, there was no darkness under his eyes, his smile was infectious. He had grown into something unspeakable. He looked so pleased when Ophy finally met his eyes. Reeid was braced lightly against the tree, his closeness so much more casual and intimate than simply sharing the same space. He seemed infinitely comfortable exactly where he was, even so much as giggling a little when he looked up at Ophyrona. He wore the enemy’s clothes but neither sounded or looked like them. The only sign that he was dangerous was the blood that stained his fingers from where he had so carefully silenced Ophyrona moments before.

“You know that isn’t who I am.” Was all he said in response.

“Not yet.” Reeid said confidently. He could have been reassuring Ophy that the sun would rise in the morning for how matter-of-fact he seemed to be about the whole thing. 

“Have no fear in your heart, my friend.” He guided his hand to Ophyrona’s chest, his touch there gentle and unimposing. He sighed and tucked his head under Ophy’s chin. It was like holding a butterfly, a flower, a flame. Too delicate. Too easy to break or to smother. Ophyrona should have been afraid for himself. This man was not called The Red Baron for nothing. 

But his only worry was hurting him. Idiotic. Ophyrona knew better than that. Get your ass kicked by an asura and you quickly learn that not everything that looks harmless is harmless. He was a testament to that himself in some ways. But the illusion was thick. He moved carefully, taking Reeid by the shoulders to try and push him away. He should have killed him. Ophy was not short on experience. Letting Reeid live was a terrible decision, surely. A mistake he’d already made once.

But even if he could kill him, if Reeid didn’t so plainly have the upper hand, he wasn’t sure he would. He couldn’t shake the ghost of the desperate boy he had met. Reeid, for his part, seemed to have made peace with that a long time ago.

“Hush now. Better for you just to relax.” Reeid’s hand, the one resting over Ophy’s heart, traced gentle patterns reassuringly against his skin. More kisses, and these ones found their way to Ophyrona’s lips. There was no resistance. Was it better to fight than to give in? The pain would come either way. Certainly he could have fought, but it seemed wiser to wait until it could actually be of use to him. And the kiss was sweet. Reeid’s touch was almost compassionate, he tasted like a heartfelt ache and it was harder and harder to take him for a liar. Maybe not everything he said was a lie. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asked. Another smile. “And before you ask, yes, it was worth the wait.”

Reeid kissed him again. He pulled Ophy from where he was rested and when the soldier stumbled Reeid was strong enough to catch him. Strong enough still to guide him down onto the grass. When Ophy moved the wrong way and hissed in pain, Reeid was quick to soothe him. He pushed Ophyrona’s shoulders down on to the ground and followed to continue their kiss. 

“Just like that.” Reeid murmured his approval. “Isn’t this kinder? Have you not been through enough?” He laughed lightly. He was right. Laying down was much easier on Ophyrona’s ragged body, there was no denying it. Everywhere Reeid touched him was warm, his hands smoothing whatever damage they caressed.  He rested next to where Ophyrona lay and touched him at his leisure. “I don’t intend to hurt you if I don’t have to. I can promise you that it serves me not.”

Ophyrona wasn’t sure what purpose this served. It was not torture, but the waiting was not comfortable to endure. And then Reeid’s hand slipped a little lower and, quick as a flash, Ophyrona grabbed his wrist.

“And what do you intend to do?” Ophyrona’s gaze still managed to look dangerous despite how little of a threat he posed. Reeid just laughed again. 

“There are more paths to the nightmare than more people want to admit.” He said, instead of an answer. With minimal effort, he tugged his hand free of Ophyrona’s grip and went back to what he had been doing. Ophyrona did not struggle, but he looked at Reeid with skeptical eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Most of the court use pain, and, well, I’m not one to discount a time-honoured tradition…. But it isn’t the only way. And I’m smart enough to know it won’t work on you.” Reeid kissed his forehead as if to commend him for that. Ophyrona’s scowl didn’t lighten until Reeid’s lips returned to his own and his hand slipped under the rags of Ophyrona’s clothes. With that same terrible smile, Reeid kept talking. “They could work you over for a century and you’d still be the same man at the end… It’s a very shortsighted method.” He noted.

Maybe it was the pain that made him oversensitive. Maybe it was that Reeid was as talented as he was clever. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Ophy already felt heat rising in his chest, already felt his pulse ticking up. When he reached for Reeid next, it wasn’t to stop him. 

“The nightmare is so much more than just pain.” Maybe he needed this. He didn’t want it, not here and not now, but it was impossible to resist. Reeid seemed happy to lay against him, content in his idle torment. “It’s pleasure, too, you know. It’s power.”

And then, his fingers wrapped around Ophy, drawing a shaking breath from him, a shudder that had him curling into Reeid. It hurt to move, but it didn’t hurt enough to resist him. 

“I want this. There’s no reason to fight it, and you’re in no shape to resist. You wanted to save me, didn’t you? Now it is my turn. Let me save you from the Dream.” Lust-heated words, heady and intoxicating. His touch never strayed, never went rough with desire though Reeid was so sorely tempted. 

“I-” Ophyrona’s hands held tightly to him, trying to put his words together. He fell apart so quickly to gentleness, to intimacy that he had so little experience with. Had Reeid known?  _ How _ had he known? “I can’t give you what you want, Reeid. I d-don’t-”

“I don’t want your love.” His voice dropped. No longer sweet it was, for a moment, frigid and sharp. As quickly as it had come, it disappeared. The voice in Ophy’s ear settled into warmth and desire once again. “ I want your power. You fear nothing in this world. I think that there is nothing in the nightmare that would even slow your steps. I want to share that power with you.”

“Reeid, stop.” And that was more begging than the other man had ever earned. He didn't pull away, didn't try to push Reeid off of him. Reeid kissed him to silenced his protestations, giving up only when Ophyrona was reduced to weak gasps and little struggle. Reeid’s mouth busied itself elsewhere. This is what he had been craving. For so long now he had hungered for this. Even weakened, he tasted like strength and intensity. Control and domination. Reeid melted for him just as he pulled the other man apart at the seams. 

His touch was warm and this new ache was very different than the one Ophyrona was used to. Reeid’s hands had won themselves passage wherever they pleased. With only himself to risk, Ophyrona didn’t so much concede defeat as embrace it. When Reeid kissed him, he didn’t resist. There was no need for the Baron to crow his victory; they both knew, and he was too busy enjoying the spoils. 

Ophy’s hands weren’t as steady. Where they attempted the buttons of Reeid’s coat they were weak and hurried. Still, he wasn’t completely witless. He got the man’s coat open and shoved it aside as best he could, slipping his hands under Reeid’s shirt and reveling in the skin that he found there. 

A wrong shift of weight sent a bolt of pain through Ophy’s knee and he froze suddenly, biting back a gasp. Reeid pressed him back against the ground, murmuring honest reassurances against his neck as he tried to get him to relax.

“No need to strain. I promise you, I’ve waited long enough for this. I’m willing to work for it.” He said, as though it was that simple. Had he been anyone else, Reeid would have killed him on the spot, or at least let the other man finish up his efforts. Such complications seemed far from their minds. Reeid was so close to the completion of his desire that none of this mattered to him. Ophyrona’s reasoning was very simple, that this, whatever it was, was better than torture. There was the possibility that he deliberately oversimplified it to keep from looking too hard at how much he seemed to be enjoying himself. Reeid was well aware of the evidence; the glow in his cheeks, his shortness of breath, and the stickiness between Reeid’s fingers. 

Ophyrona laid back and, with unmeasurable gentleness, Reeid moved to straddle him. He wasn’t sure the last time he had gotten this close to someone he didn’t mean to kill. Even other members of the court, because, well, you did what you had to. And despite the beatings Ophyrona showed no signs of being slowed, pulling Reeid into another searing kiss as soon as he was seated. 

“Been a while?” Reeid joked. He couldn’t help it. The desperation was heady and intoxicating. Perhaps he had taken leave of his senses. It hardly mattered now.

“It’s… complicated.” Was the rushed response. Still, it was enough. He knew for certain that Ophyrona was not an oft-conquered piece of territory. That was plenty for him.

He worked quickly and by the time he had shrugged his jacket off, Ophyrona had undone his belt and was pulling it from his hips. There was no need to get undressed entirely, and to be honest Reeid hadn’t the patience.It was a struggle to remove his pants from the equation but he was aided by a pair of eager, helpful hands and no sooner had he managed it than Ophy’s hands were on him in earnest, teasing and stroking him without an ounce of hesitation or shame. 

Reeid found it hard not to laugh at Ophy’s plainly disgruntled expression when he had to take his hands away in order to push down his own pants, hurriedly and clumsily shoving them out of his way, gritting his teeth through the pain of his own impatience. Soon it would be Reeid’s turn for that, wouldn’t it? The same edge of roughness haunted Ophyrona’s fingers where they found Reeid’s skin again and Reeid enjoyed every second of it.

It was both the victory and the twist of the knife. Reeid was just as beautiful and proud as he had ever been, even with his face flushed with arousal and his own erection dripping evidence of his desire. He took Ophyrona’s own length in his hand and spared a moment to align himself accordingly. That seemed to be when it sunk in for the man under him, that Reeid intended to do this with very little preparation. It wasn’t the worst he had endured and he had only been wanting it since the beginning. Gentleness would not have been right, and would not serve the same purpose.

He winced just as Ophyrona did, but he knew what he was doing. He knew how to move slow, to lean into the pain. He won himself a groan from the man under him, and Reeid’s smile was vicious.

“Hurts.” Ophyrona breathed, but no complaints followed it.

“Yeah.” Reeid agreed, kissing the corner of his mouth. “But not enough not to stop you.”

There was more than one way to inflict pain. Sometimes it went down easier with something to accompany it. Traditional methods would have never worked on Ophyrona anyway.

Now it was Reeid gripping him tightly, nails digging into his skin, his breath coming in pants and gasps. “Hurts.” He agreed, and even now that same smile tugged at his lips. “But I like it when you hurt me, Ophy.” He felt it, the way Ophyrona’s hands tightened, the shift of his hips. He hit a nerve, and it wasn’t a bad one. Reeid’s sob was part pain, part frustrated arousal, and though the work was slow, it was delicious. To be filled with him, finally, was the culmination of so much work and yet work was the last thing on Reeid’s mind. 

He groaned, his head resting against Ophyrona’s shoulder. Staying still was agony, but to move would be chasing agony once over. The decision was made for him; Ophyrona moved. 

It still hurt, it did, but his arousal hadn’t faded for a second. Every sound that was pulled from his lips was honest as he was filled and filled again. Ophyrona’s eyes were glassy and their kisses were messy and quick, hardly possible between their ragged breaths. 

“Reeid-” There was something so weak and sincere the way Ophyrona said his name. It was without the condescension of anyone who had called him by it, and without any of the fear of those who called him Baron. It was a beautiful litany, evocative and deeply satisfying.

“More-”  Reiid’s answer, a catch in his throat, his own plea almost dying on his lips. “Harder.” And there was something in the way that he craved this awful roughness that got under Ophyrona’s skin. He shuddered and moaned when asked to do more, to do worse. 

His name rolled off of Ophyrona’s tongue over and over, a mindless prayer, honest and addled. Ophyrona orgasmed, his hands bruising Reeid’s hips, his mouth leaving marks along Reeid’s collar. Reeid heard him whimper, an exhausted, empty sound.  _ I did that _ . Reeid thought, blindingly triumphant, and his own orgasm soon followed. 

  
  



End file.
